


In Concert

by Tammany



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9449999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammany/pseuds/Tammany
Summary: Mycroft and the Parental Holmeses come to Sherrinford, to see Sherlock and Eurus fiddle together.





	

"But Sherlock goes without you, Mike," Mummy said, in high affront, her voice on the phone oratorical.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, and leaned over a file on his desk, trying to impose the awareness of work as a buffer between him and his mother. It wasn't as though she'd react well to the obvious--that Sherlock, for all his faults, held a high-level security clearance of his very own, and she and Father did not. Sherlock still needed Mycroft's and Lady Smallwood's clearance, but he had a role and place in the security community. Mummy and Father were simply "my parents," which meant very little in the eyes of steel-hearted security analysts.

Rather than argue with her, Mycroft said simply, "That's how it's done, Mummy. I can't change it. I will be accompanying you now, as I did the first time." After which she'd spent the helicopter ride back to the mainland shredding him, bellowing like a valkyrie over the roar of the helicopter engine and the lub-lub-lub of the propeller blades. "The flight over to Sherrinford will be at ten on Friday. We'll pick you up at your cottage en route--say about 10:30 in the north field?"

She growled under her breath. "Can we talk this time?"

"I doubt anyone will talk to Eurus again ever, Mummy...and even if she were to return from the beyond willing and able to speak, you'd never be allowed to speak with her unsupervised."

"Ridiculous. I'm her mother."

"And she is a threat to national security, and possesses a near-superhuman talent for manipulation," he snapped.

"Don't be melodramatic, Mike. It's childish of you to use these overblown notions to keep your sister locked in solitary." She huffed. "What is it? Do you think we failed to discipline the younger children well enough? Typical elder complaint. I told you--different children need different levels of discipline. You responded well to strict rules and restrictions. Sherlock and Eurus responded better to utter freedom."

He counted monkeys--one monkey, two monkeys, three monkeys. He brought his temper into sufficient control to then risk response. "Mother, I assure you, I am not the one who classified her. Now or at any other point. I have made sure she was evaluated by professionals."

"Humph." She didn't believe a word of it...and he was not about to convince her.

"Just--be ready, Mummy? In the north field at 10:30 on Friday?"

"Very well. At least we'll get to see Sherlock, too. Thank God you finally got him involved--you ivory tower eggheads need a steady hand at the wheel and a bit of common sense."

"Of course we do, Mummy," he said, then hung up before she could start another round on Sherlock's virtues and how they could be used to counteract his own fatal flaws.

He was in his forties. He'd learned, over years of Mummy, when to save his breath and his nerves the wear and tear of argument. He chalked it up as a brilliant training ground for his professional skills...

 

The flight over was uneventful. Mummy and Father hunched in their seats, looking like they wished they had chosen warmer jackets. Sherlock brooded, holding tight to the duffel holding his violin. Mycroft looked out at the churning waves and practice calming rituals. Together, a sober little pack, they trooped down to Eurus' cell. Mycroft had so many eyes on the place even Mummy and Father should have felt over-observed. The security team here at Sherrinford, of course--but also two separate teams on the mainland, and one more on the island--the helicopter team being capable of monitoring the feed from Mycroft's wire as well as the next man. Mycroft was determined that Eurus would never--never-never-never again--get the upper hand without at least doing so where it would be seen and acted on. Once in the observation area outside her cell, he ushered his parents to the bench that had been installed just for them. 

"Can't we talk to her this time?" Father said, sounding forlorn.

Mycroft closed his eyes. They failed to understand so many things. Reluctantly he said, "Very well. You can try. Don't cross the safety line. That's serious, Father..." Then he drifted over to Sherlock, who was tuning his violin. "It seemed wiser to let them try to converse," he said, under his breath.

Sherlock didn't even look up from his own attention to the tuning pegs. "Still avoiding responsibility?"

Mycroft's mouth tightened, but he held himself back from retort. "It's simpler this way."

To his surprise Sherlock glanced up, regret in his eyes. "I didn't mean it that way. Perhaps I should have used the word 'blame.' They blame you--and you'd rather not deal with it."

Mycroft froze, processing it. Ever since they had been here, together, and faced Eurus' tests, Sherlock had changed. Not entirely. He was still, well--Sherlock. But for the first time in Mycroft's life, Sherlock seemed to want to let go of...yes. Blame. Resentment.

"Yes," he said. "I would rather not deal with it. Which also sounds quite dreadful, but...I get tired."

Sherlock snorted. "Understood...but relax. I am about to take all their attention and focus it elsewhere."

Which was true, Mycroft knew--and not all a blessing... However, it was what he had brought his parents there to see.

He turned and snapped, instantly, "Father, I told you--step back to the security line." Father had come to stand mere inches from the barrier, had raised one hand to the security pane--and Eurus, damn her, had drifted close, her own hand rising to touch the warmed glass beneath his palm.

"Let her," Mummy growled. "Let her have this little thing, Mikey. You have taken everything else from her..."

Eurus' hand touched the glass. Her fingers traced the shape, following from palm to fingers to thumb to wrist. For one brief moment it was heavenly, ethereal...then in a instant Eurus thrust her face forward, screaming into her Father's--then laughing, wildly.

Father screamed back, staggering. Mummy screamed.

Oh, God, Mycroft thought. Not enough to have a violin duet in the family. Now a vocal trio...

He stepped forward and caught Father in his backward stumble, guiding him to the bench and handing him the pocket square from his own suit. He glared at Mummy and gestured her to the bench with his chin. Only when they were settled did he at last sit on the bench, at the end nearest Eurus, as though he could stand between them and her madness and her malice.

She paced frantically around the cell for a time, gesturing, muttering under her breath--not words anyone could make out, but sound alone. 

Sherlock continued to tune, ignoring the entire pantomime. At last he stepped forward and began to play.

"He's so good," Mummy murmured. "The talent in that boy..."

Mycroft, who'd bothered to have Sherlock's work evaluated, chose not to point out that his younger brother was good--but far from good enough to go pro in the classical world. Nor, when at last Eurus calmed and joined him, did he point out that she was significantly better--her phrasing more eloquent, her mastery of the strings wringing out more expressive nuances, her technique outstanding. If nothing else he dared not say it or Mummy would begin planning ways for Eurus to have a successful musical career while still locked in Sherrinford.

And, still...the vision broke his heart, as it had the first time he'd seen the taped interaction sent to him from Sherrinford. He'd run the recording, watching his brother and sister serenade each other, melody flowing over melody--not quite organized to seem like a composition, but far too precise and integrated to seem like the improvisation it was.

Here, now, their eyes met. Their breath began to match. He itched, superstitiously fearful of what this wordless synchronization could mean--always half afraid Sherlock, too, would go as Eurus had gone. A sociopath. A killer. A genius with no conscience...

He pushed the terror away. This duet arose from what was best in Sherlock--his newly wakening maturity and decency. Mycroft refused to let fear convince him that something evil lay in wait because of it.

Mummy's hand slipped over his, and she leaned toward him. "See. I told you to trust Sherlock to untangle this mess."

He sighed, accepting she would never stop hurting him. Her younger children had been the light of her life--the apples of her eye. He didn't think he would ever entirely understand how he'd failed her...what about him was so lacking that Sherlock and Eurus had been not only an improvement, but a release from some sort of despair. At this point, he wasn't sure it mattered. She was what she was...in the words of John Watson. He chose to believe she was better than "shit." 

He patted her hand. "He's got a bond with her," he said, and prayed inside that it wasn't true--would never be true. And, yet--the music played on, sweet and lazy and loaded. 

It darkened his days and haunted his dreams.


End file.
